Mud…and a Marriage Proposal

Last weekend the skies opened, the trail flooded and the bikes got dirty at the 24 Hours of Allamuchy. The precipitation was predictable—it rains at Allamuchy. Every year. Yet we’re back on the starting line. Every year. A good course, good brew and good friends make the race easy to come back to and hard to forget.

Despite the weather.

I went into this race a little less enthusiastic than Justin—who was still flying high from his French Creek finish. We planned on racing coed duo, and Justin planned on winning. (I even got a lecture about riding in the rain.) I decided we’d double up on laps so we could have more time to rest and refuel in between. Justin started the race with two back-to-back 10-mile laps and I quickly followed.


Around 9:00 p.m. he came back from his fourth lap sopping wet and covered in mud. The monsoon had come…and it was my turn to pedal closer to the podium. I must not have hid my disdain well. Justin dropped a note into my back pocket and gave me a kiss before I went out.

“Read this at your lowest point,” he told me. It reminded me of the notes I packed him when he raced the Tour Divide earlier this year—waterproof and all.

I never read the note. Much to my surprise, my third lap turned out to be my favorite. Accompanied by new dad, Ryan, from Princeton Tec, I splashed through rotor-deep puddles, pedaled in place through peanut butter sludge and dodged toads with the best of them.


I rolled through the start/finish around 11:00 wide-eyed, wet and willing to play in the mud again. But I never got the chance. For the first time it its 16-year history, 24 Hours of Allamuchy was called off. And Justin was waiting for me at the timing table.

“Did you read the note?” he asked. And right then, I knew what it said. I pulled it out and read it anyway.

As racers came through, the sound of time chips being scanned reverberated, and I thought it ironic that they had just finished an incredible ride as I was just about to start one—with Justin by my side.

I have a feeling we’ll be at the starting line again next year.

Despite the weather.

P.S. We won.

Pearl Earrings

Pro mountain biker Katerina Nash wore pear earrings in the short track race at Mt. Snow. (I know because I stood 4 feet away from her at the start line!) She was also sporting cherry red sunglasses and banana yellow cycling shoes, but my eyes scarcely strayed from the studs that peeked out from under her helmet straps.


At Bruce Dickman’s countdown, the women pushed off the start line. And twenty minutes and a few laps later, Nash crossed the finish line first. Now that’s style!

The following weekend I packed for the MASS French Creek endurance race—bike, shoes, gloves, helmet, jersey, shorts, and variety of endurance food, pills and powders.

But this time I secured a pair of pearl earrings for good luck.

I pre-rode a bit of the course with Justin a day before the race until Steiner showed up to celebrate his first day of vacation with us. We threw around some Frisbees at the park’s disc golf course and then promptly headed to Slyfox for some food and local brew.

Seven o’clock Sunday morning came quick after a hot and horrible night’s sleep in the back of the truck. I lined up next to six other women at the start—once again, with less than a minute to spare. (Justin actually missed the start of his race as he was setting up our cooler under the tent!)

On my third lap (about 25 or so very rocky miles in), I was in pain. I made the decision that this lap would be my last. That kept me going. Seeing Justin over my shoulder (yep, he lapped me) helped too. But a quick good luck kiss—he was in 2nd place!—and he was gone. The pain stayed.


At 31.5 miles, I crossed the start/finish line and glanced at the time clock, hoping I’d surpassed the 6-hour mark. I hadn't. And 15 minutes was, unfortunately, plenty of time to start another lap. Shouts from the EWR tent boosted my confidence long enough for me to roll past my team and a few friends who had gathered under our EZ-Up. I began another 10.5-mile lap, uttering a few choice words once in the woods.


My fourth lap was desolate, sweltering and long. Rocks seemed pointier, obstacles more plentiful, hills insurmountable. Somehow I made it to the finish; most people had already headed to the registration building for the awards ceremony. And what a ceremony it was! Justin kept his lead (with a broken cleat in the last lap, no less) and took 2nd place in the men’s endurance category.

Maybe the pearl earrings were lucky after all!

Love. Pass It On.

The first mountain bike I ever rode was my boyfriend’s sister’s Bianchi. And I pedaled that beast like a pro. Lugged its awkward, overweight frame up the “steep” hills of the (possibly illegal) mountain bike trail system that diverged off a nearby dirt road. Rebounded its rigid fork off rocks, roots and, really, just about anything that got in my way. And muddied its metallic finish when I sloshed through creek crossings aplenty.

It was love at first chainring "tattoo." And ten years later, I’m still in love with the sport (and the boyfriend).

Last week I had the desire to introduce someone new to the dirt. Naturally, I chose my fixie-riding, punk rock-listening, vegan brother. He was all for it. He just had to lose the tight jeans first. (Love ya, bro!)

He pedaled his sister’s boyfriend’s bike. (Pictured below—minus the dirt and profusion of tail lights.) It was awkward, rigid and only fitting for his inaugural ride.


We did the left loop at High Rocks—technical, steep, rocky—and he only crashed once. I think he’s a natural.

We cruised home from the trails on some back country roads and I yelled over my shoulder, “Did you have fun?”

“I loved it,” he responded.

Girls, Girls, Girls!

While vacationing in Park City two weeks ago, I found myself without plans on a Tuesday evening. A stop in the local bike shop, White Pine Touring, earlier in the week left me with an option to ponder: the Tuesday night women’s ride.

I’ll admit I was hesitant to partake in this local ladies-only ride at first. My two neighborhood shops don’t offer weekly women’s mountain bike rides…or any weekly mountain bike rides for that matter. Plus, I’d never ridden with only women before.

Admittedly, fear of the unknown frightens me—even when (especially when) the unknown involves a group of girls. Would they give my Racer X rental the once-over and pass judgment? Fortunately, my fear faded the moment I hopped on my bike and pedaled towards the shop. Really, it was just a ride. Just for women. Just for fun.

When I rolled to a stop in front of the entrance, my jaw dropped. There must have been 50 people waiting to pedal off into the mountains—fifty WOMEN! On MOUNTAIN bikes! And this happens every Tuesday! I joined the Level II- Endurance group on a ride that took my breath away, and not just because we were at high altitude (but that was part of it).


Miles of emerald mountains, crystal water and auburn sky greeted us at the top of every climb. Ride leaders positioned themselves at switchbacks chirping cheerful pointers as we pushed past. And in the last few miles of the day, the trail dumped us into the parking lot of a garage where a few older men were holding band practice. To their delight, we stayed for a song as the sun set behind us.


“Only in Park City,” the girl next to me shouted above the music.

You got that right.